


Addendum

by sheafrotherdon



Series: Farm in Iowa Apocrypha. [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-20
Updated: 2008-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the Ferris-Wheel-night-before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addendum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dogeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/gifts).



They make it to bed and sprawl there, half-asleep, trading idle touches and whispered conversation, making plans for a Ferris Wheel, laughing at the fact that they're utterly, one-hundred-percent cracked out of their minds. They doze for a while, fingers tangled, bodies offered up bare to a late-summer breeze, and it's only as the sun begins to set that they gradually, softly find their touches shifting toward something more focused, lazy kisses gaining a new, sharper edge. They take their time, coming on a sigh instead of a shout, and John finds himself smiling, exhausted and sticky, as Rodney leans in to kiss his swollen mouth.

Eventually they shower, raid the kitchen for illicit sandwiches, drink beer on the porch, butt-naked and grinning in the comfortable dark. John can still feel the buzz of _Ferris Wheel_ beneath his skin, the improbable, half-mad beauty of it singing in his blood, and he keeps on laughing, breaking up the silence with breaths of stunned and blissed-out mirth, and Rodney grins at him, laughs himself, throws his bread crusts where the raccoons will get them, yawns and tells John to get his beautiful, firm, naked ass back in bed.

They sleep like the dead – John wakes to find he's lost all the feeling in his fingers – and it's early and warm and Rodney's blinking at the world, befuddled. "Hmmm," he manages, and flops over onto his back. It isn't meant as an invitation, but John takes it as one anyway, scoots himself closer, and kisses Rodney's shoulder, trails one set of fingers over his hip. "Sleepy," Rodney murmurs.

"So just let me," John says, his first words of the morning, and he's gratified to watch Rodney shiver at the rough-textured sound of his voice. "Let me," he whispers again, and bends his body to the job of taking Rodney's apart.

They don't often take their time this way – there isn't always opportunity with Finn in the house – and it's been a long time since John's had the leisure to tease Rodney within an inch of his life. He kisses skin that has no erotic meaning; laps at Rodney's elbow; noses below the arc of his ribs – and when Rodney's squirming, mumbling uncomplimentary things about John's stamina and his apparently absent desire to see his boyfriend satisfied, he smiles over Rodney's nipple, drags his stubble across the nub and hums with satisfaction when Rodney tenses, only melting back into the mattress when John replaces cheek with lips, soothing what he's gently rubbed raw.

By the time John straddles Rodney, already slick and ready, poised and patient over Rodney's thighs, Rodney's fisting the sheets, trembling head to toe, belly sticky where his cock keeps bumping against his skin. "You bastard," he curses brokenly as John takes him in his hand, lining him up, sinking down. "You bastard, you . . . oh, _god_ ," and he screws up his eyes as John rolls his hips, settling in place, bites his lip as if he has to stop himself saying things out loud.

"Good?" John asks breathlessly, and Rodney merely keens, so John reaches over, grasps the headboard, rolls his body in a long, sinuous arc, bites his own lip with contentment, with pleasure when Rodney swears, words breaking down into a sob.

He keeps it slow for as long as he can, Rodney buried inside him, holding him open, and even when Rodney's hands settle on his hips, urging him on with fingers that press and burn, he holds his own, sweat sliding down his back, staining the sheets. It's not until Rodney's reduced to a soft, helpless, litany of "John, John, John . . ." that John touches himself, that he amps up the pace, that he feels Rodney surge and come inside him, that he clamps down with every muscle he has and shatters, spilling helplessly onto Rodney's chest.

He slides down to kiss Rodney, finds him shaking, breath unsteady, and he smiles as he shifts considerately to the side. Rodney follows and clings to him – there's no other word for it – burrows into his body heat and trembles, undone. "Shhhhh," John murmurs fondly, broad hands sweeping down Rodney's spine. "S'okay. Sleep now." And Rodney presses closer, face hidden from view, helplessly trusting that he can unravel and still be loved, and John bends his head, mashes his nose into Rodney's unruly hair, lays claim to a cat nap for himself, just for a moment or two.


End file.
